


Dear Lucien

by Weebaholic



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Epistolary, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 19:37:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weebaholic/pseuds/Weebaholic
Summary: Lucien Blackfyre, a tiefling born to a Waterdhavian family of courtiers and diplomats, finds himself caught in the midst of a feud with a rival house. Enter the world of intrigue that lies between the commoners and the nobles through the letters and contracts of a young man who will soon attract the attention of a powerful patron.
Relationships: Original Tiefling Character(s)/ Original Half-Elf Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Dear Lucien

**Author's Note:**

> The following tale is a level one character backstory written in the epistolary format. If you are my dungeon master, I halfheartedly apologize in advance for the amount that you will eventually have to read. If you are not my dungeon master, then by all means enjoy, and leave constructive criticism as you feel necessary.

** _Dear Lucien: An Epistolary_ **

Preface

_From the offices of the Infernal Bard_

Dearest readers,

Throughout the ages of Faerunian history, I have seen soul after soul make its way to my Lord’s court here in Nessus. I have seen the signings of a plethora of contracts, made between Him and countless mortals of great import, from the mightiest of emperors to the wealthiest of merchants. I have seen the least talented of bards begin to fill amphitheaters to their brim and the poorest of beggars come into untold riches within a fortnight. Amidst these individuals, however, I nevertheless find some to be of greater interest than others. Such is the case of Lucien Blackfyre, a mere courtier to whom my Lord has bestowed a portion of His endless power. He was born in North Ward of Waterdeep, to two humans, Lord Haston and Lady Cassandra Blackfyre, the patriarch and matriarch of the Blackfyre family, a clan of courtiers, emissaries, and negotiators that leases its services out to the noble families of the city. Lord Haston died young in a magical experiment gone wrong, the details of which are so unimportant that even Kelemvor, the Lord of the Dead, did not care to include it in his evaluation. What is important, however, is that his wife is now the sole leader of the family, a tall and pallid woman who is as beautiful as she is hideous. Her hair is of a blackened sheen and a moderate length, tied neatly into a bun. Her eyes are deep set and pale, with blue irises that are capable of piercing into even the blackest of souls. Her frame is thin and bony, like that of a fresh corpse that has not yet bloated, while her flesh is of a whiter shade of pale that makes one question whether or not the blood runs through her veins at all.

The way in which she runs the family business of noble politics is comparable in ruthlessness to the thievery of the Xanathar, and her efficiency is like that of our own here in Baator. Perhaps this is do to her visage as described earlier, and her countenance, with which I forgot to mention, her neatly plucked eyebrows narrowing to create the resemblance of a hawk as she closes in on her prey. Take for example her most recent negotiation between two noble families that needed a third-party to act as a mediator. As should be expected of the Waterdhavian dogs, one of the families desired to pay her to lean the ceasefire contract in their favor. Her eyes leered at him as she pulled out another sheet of paper, and dipped her quill into the inkwell.

“Are you willing to sign for that?” she asked, her pale irises and sharp brows sending a chill like the one that froze Levistus up and down his spine. The noble gulped so loudly in the empty room that its noise seemed to reverberate off the stone walls, before taking the quill and signing the contract as soon as she drafted it.

So it was that such values were passed down unto her progeny, Lucien, who was a tiefling as the result of an old family pact that manifested itself at least once a generation, though this was the first time it revealed itself in the family heir. It is he for whom this compendium stands. He is unique amongst tieflings, who often either resist their heritage, often becoming clerics or paladins, or ignore it, becoming thieves or even warlocks in the service of demons. Lucien, you see, embraces his heritage, or perhaps it would be better to say that he _flaunts _it, to such a degree that many an onlooker assumes that it must be a bluff, a humorous fancy with which to lighten the tone of an otherwise dull meeting. He is rather handsome for a tiefling, even by human standards. Where many of his infernal kin are without pupils, his eyes appear human, save for irises that burn bright red like the flames of Phlegethos. Where bony ridges would dot his cheeks and chin, his red flesh is smooth and supple, with a neatly trimmed goatee as black as the night. The locks on his head are fairly long and tied gracefully into a ponytail, his bangs parted neatly to his left. When Lucien walks into a noble court he walks with strut and bravado, a flick of the tail and a flap of the wings. In celebration of his forebearers he writes contracts – contracts that have given his family great wealth. Despite this wealth, however, the movers and shakers of Waterdeep, the Blackfyres and their rivals, no honors of title nor power have been bestowed, and so it is that the young man’s tale begins.

Signed,

Orethaas, the Infernal Bard


End file.
